


Burned in the Fire, Reborn in Titanium

by bigsweatersandcuddleweather



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Depression, Isolation, M/M, Multi, Pain, hints of it, little mix - Freeform, these four walls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-16 21:50:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1362976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigsweatersandcuddleweather/pseuds/bigsweatersandcuddleweather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vague Angst inspired by a  Little Mix song.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burned in the Fire, Reborn in Titanium

The water was slowly turning cold as it dropped form the showerhead over his curved back but he couldn’t be bothered to pay attention, sitting on his knees, chest pressed forward to his thighs and crossed arms sandwiched between them, in the hopes that it would make it easier to breathe, bring some feeling into his numb limbs, he shivered, staring at the tubs sides, not knowing what he was doing there, why he was still here, or anywhere. The water was now running frigid and he soaked in it, letting the cold freeze his fingers and his heart, not wanting to feel this anymore, the numb. He didn’t want to feel the numb, the empty place in his heart, places in his heart. Zayn gasped for breath, shaking his head, their very names in his head brought the razor edged pangs of ache in his body, radiating everywhere, all over.

With shaky legs he heaved himself from the tub, shaky hands gripping the sleek edges and holding onto the walls, needing support because his supports were gone, along with everything he’d ever known and come too close with.

 

"Hey, it’s me…again. I just…I don’t know what I did wrong. Please…please tell me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for whatever I did. Please, I don’t- I’m really so sorry. T-that’s it. Sorry, again. Sorry, bye." hanging up the phone that he kept clutched in his white knuckled fist, in the vague hope that they would call back, but they never did, not after each of his 687 texts or the 100+ calls and voice mails.

Making sure not to glance at the closed doors at the end of the hall he made his way downstairs with creaking sore joints and a weariness that seemed beyond his young years, eyes constantly downcast as he shuffled through the empty cold house, arms wrapped around his shoulders and big fuzzy socks drooping on his slim ankles. The kitchen was empty, just the rest of the place but there wasn’t a speck of food in the cupboards that were usually stocked full because they all ate like pigs, but now it was just one, all alone, in this too big house with the creaking stairs and holes in his heart.

Rubbing at sleepless swollen eyes Zayn just sat at the table, not even able to swallow his own spit, let alone any food, the lump in his throat making it hard. Tracing a finger over the rough wood that had sustained the massive feasts of food they had ordered, or atleast cooked when they were all tired of fast food and in the mood to cook, massive dishes of pizza and pastas, fettuccine and curry kormas that the others always bullied him into making and then shouting out their praises until his cheeks were a deep red and he promised to do it again tomorrow, but never did. The memories brought a anguishing twist to his insides and he choked, hands going to cup his face, fingers digging into the corners of his watering irises, shoving himself away from the table and leaving the room, needing to breath, to be away.

He didn’t know what he had done, how the shouting started but all he remembered was walking through the front doors and all the loud noises ringing in his ears, their angry drawn eyebrows and raised hands, slut, cheater, how could you, were done, no good, we trusted you, no more, on your own, no point anymore, goodbye. And then the next morning they were all gone, the house cold and his limbs already numb and detached, like he wasn’t really there anymore. Nobody would tell him where they were, completely disregarding every word he tried to get through, telling him to give them time, that they would come around, saying that they were hurt but he didn’t know why, no one would tell him why. He was lost, here…all on his own, so so alone.

Somehow he stumbled into his bedroom, their bedroom, trying to find some trace of them, abandoning all sense of pride as he keeled over on the bare bed. Their voices, all he wanted to hear was their voices, and he swore that he would be alright, the void in his gut filled instead of so painstakingly hollow.

 

The days didn’t even make any sense anymore, barely leaving the plush deepness of the extravagant goose down bed that Louis insisted they have, taking a turn with each of the pillows their scents no longer lingered and they were all damp with tears that seemed to fall involuntarily now, constantly, always, emptying out the reserves that he had held back for years, everything caving in on him the second that he knew he was alone, all alone in this big house.

There was no day, not night, just constant cycles where he would get up to use the bathroom, shower occasionally and sit in the middle of the big room huddled up as people knocked on the door. But it was never one of them, he didn’t feel them close, didn’t feel them at all.

So the door remained barred and shut, the tables and chairs stacked against it as the demons in his head filled him with cotton so that everything was muffled and like novocain, nothing.

One night, he just wanted one more night. He didn’t understand why they didn’t care, why they hadn’t called, or checked or came. He didn’t understand how they could stop loving him. Not when they were all his heart craved and yearned and longed for. When their names were the only things that could fall from his chapped dehydrated lips. _Why? Why? What did I do? I’m sorry. I love you. I love you, why did you leave? What have I done?_

 

And one day his sleep fatigued eyes opened and he got up, not giving any thought as to what he was thinking, or if he was even thinking at all. He just left his mind blank, blissfully empty from the self inflicted tortures for just a little while, digging through their- no, his now minuscule closet for a pair of basketball shorts and a plain shirt, tugging on some old keds and leaving out the back door. 

It was still dark, the sun peeking over the horizon and a sheen of mist hanging over the dewy grass. 

He took off. Setting one foot in front of the other, a steady pace, constant balance, eyes ahead, letting the blood rush to his face and arm and legs, everywhere, pumping, steady. He was there, he was steady. He had lost his balance but that’s just because the table was now gone. Now he wasn’t going to rely on a table, just gravity and his atmosphere to keep him afloat, surviving.

When he finally got back to their- his house the first thing he did was open all the windows and blinds, flooding the darkened stale spaces and air with the freshness of the outside. It was weird, to see their lingering presence on everything, and not feel anything, not letting himself be tugged under again. Instead he stripped the bed and tore down all the pictures from where they hung, taking whatever mementos the others had left behind before heading into the backyard, spraying the lot with kerosene and tossing a match into the heap, watching it all go up in flames, just like everything he used to know, but not anymore. He would be damned if he let someone in that close to break him like that. 

He was stupid and naive enough once, but never again. From the ashes of the fire that his ex-lovers had set on his former happiness he was resurrected, new, incapable of loving, titanium and indestructible.

Heartless


End file.
